


like the walls are caving in (keep telling me that it gets better)

by whatsdunisdun



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kent gets better, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Therapy, discussion of suicide attempts, jack is good in this i promise, kent just deserves to be happy and eventually he realises this, mental illness recovery, parse positive, rated T for graphic flashbacks to Jack's overdose, read beginning notes for tw please!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsdunisdun/pseuds/whatsdunisdun
Summary: Kent’s sick of feeling like this. Fucking sick of it.//They’re sitting on Kent’s couch, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate that went cold about 10 minutes ago, when Jeff asks, hesitation in every inch of his body language, “Is this about… Zimmermann?”Kent breathes in. Breathes out. Nods gently.“Isn’t everything?” Kent asks. “But it’s, uh, it’s – not his fault. Like, all of the – the shit in my head – it comes back to him? But most of it isn’t his fault.”Or: Kent gets better.





	1. walls are covered in your name (every breath is taken in pain)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves Kent’s experiences with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. There is a recurring theme of vivid flashbacks to Jack’s overdose, and subsequently references to suicide, medication, blood and substance abuse. If any of this is a trigger for you, please don’t read it.
> 
> Don’t forget you can reach out to any of a number of hotlines (see [here](http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html) for an international list) to talk through problems you’re facing, and remember: you’re not alone. 
> 
> // 
> 
> Please let me know if you think any part of Kent’s experience reads as an inappropriate or offensive representation of his situation, or if you think I should tag for anything else/have other trigger warnings. Also, remember that mental illnesses look different for everyone, and that the road to recovery is different in every case. 
> 
> work title is from In My Blood by Shawn Mendes, chapter title from Keys by With Confidence :)
> 
> You can find my Kent playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/evett333/playlist/03Z6S3Ip1kptubWU0XQ0IM?si=1ljQ-wr8Sg6vldQKB2Dj2w)!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

The fluorescent lights in the roof above his head are flickering, so minutely that Kent almost feels like he’s making it up. The tiles underneath his bare back are cold, and he can almost feel the pattern of the tiles indenting itself into his back, and he thinks ( _cold tile, coated in blood, not my blood, blood everywhere, jack’s bl-)_ but he ignores the hum of memory under his skin. He’s not even sure, anymore, what part of what he thinks and feels and remembers about that night was ever real, so he just. What use does it do? To remember that?

 

He’s sick of feeling like this. Fucking _sick_ of it.

 

Jack had played his first game with the Providence Falconers today, and he’d shot Kent a text about it. Kent had almost felt a sick anger rising in his throat, but. There’s nothing wrong with Jack’s decision. Kent’s just over caring more about Jack Goddamn Zimmermann’s happiness than his own.

 

The emptiness he’s been feeling for hours, letting the cold of the tile seep through to his fucking heart, suddenly starts to morph into adrenaline, and before Kent knows what’s happening, he’s up and moving around his apartment, like if he stops for even a second he’ll never be able to move again.

 

He yanks the bottle of vodka out of its tentative place on the bench, and he has a sudden but vicious urge to _smash_ the bottle all over the kitchen floor, but broken glass has always been a bitch for him to deal with when it ends with blood on the tiles, so instead he starts pouring the entire bottle down the sink. The bottle, surprisingly, is still almost full, so it takes a while to drain out, but watching it wash away is one of the more therapeutic experiences of Kent’s life.

 

Therapy. He really fucking needs therapy.

 

He’d always been scared, he guesses. Of what, he’s not entirely sure. It’s like – Kent always tries not to buy into the locker room bullshit around mental health and other shit like that. Especially not after Jack. He knows that this shit’s serious, and he isn’t just – he knows that he’s messed up, but. It’s fucking hard, asking for help.

  
He’s just so, so, tired.

 

He knows it’s not going to be easy. He can’t walk into a psychologist’s office and suddenly forget the memory of _(blood on a grey tiled floor, empty orange pill bottles rolling around)_. But he also knows that ignoring it is so much harder. He’s tired, and he doesn’t know what to do with that anymore, because fucking everything in his life hurts him now, and he never wanted for hockey to be a _burden **,**_ but here he is, hockey more of a punishment than a reward, and that’s terrifying.

 

So he finishes tipping out the vodka, and then digs to the back of his cupboard and pulls out the bottles of Jack Daniels and the cans of beer and the bottles of tequila and the singular bottle of fucking _rum,_ Christ, what has he become, and he watches every damn one of them spiral down the drain.

 

Then he grabs his phone from the bowl at the front door and finally turns it back on, and he ignores the text from Jack sitting there in his inbox, and he doesn’t listen to the voicemail from his mother, he just… rings Swoops. God knows if anyone on the Aces roster or staff has a good contact for a therapist, it’s probably gonna be fucking Swoops. Kent has no idea what he did to deserve an A like that (a _friend_ like that, if Kent will let him be), but he knows with complete clarity that Jeff’ll pick up.

 

And he does. 

 

* * *

  

It’s kind of funny, how _fine_ Kent is right now compared to some of his more troubling days, but Swoops doesn’t know the half of it, so he kind of freaks out when Kent starts talking. Or, he doesn’t _freak out_ , so to speak, because his voice stays calm and even, but that’s just him trying to help Kent when he perceives there to be something wrong. Kent can hear, underneath Swoops telling him to take deep breaths and start from the beginning, the sounds of Swoops gathering his stuff and leaving his apartment, getting in his car and probably driving over to Kent’s.

 

They keep talking while Swoops drives, and Kent truly is feeling pretty alright, but he can’t help but be relieved that someone is heading over to see him, that he doesn’t have to be alone right now. Asking for help is never easy, but it’s certainly less difficult when you have someone like Swoops, who offers help pre-emptively.

 

“Have you had anything to drink today, Parser?” Swoops is asking, and Kent thinks that ought to be patronising coming from _anyone_ , but it isn’t. Not here.

 

“No,” Kent says, and then somehow can’t stop talking, “No, I chucked it all this morning. All down the drain. Hope you weren’t angling for a beer when you showed up, bud.”

 

Swoops chuckles, and responds “Wouldn’t dream of it. Pretty sure Davey’s the freeloader on this team, not me, eh?”

 

Kent goes to chirp him for the ‘eh’, a habit cultivated through years of continuously poking fun at Zimms’ Canadian heritage, and as soon as the thought finishes forming, bile rises in his throat. The familiar hum under his skin of _(blood and empty orange bottles, lights flickering on to show a pale body on grey tile)_ starts up but Kent mostly ignores it. He’s gotten good at that, he supposes, and maybe there are worse habits in the world.

 

Kent takes some deep breaths, and registers Swoops repeating his name, gentle but urgent.

 

“Parser, Kent, buddy, are you still there?” Swoops is asking, and the part of Kent that’s dragged his feet through terrible fucking poetry to try and find an emotional release he relates to wants to reply ‘are any of us really here anymore?’ and the thought makes him huff out a laugh.

 

“Yea, Swoops. Still here.” _~~Unfortunately~~. _“Still here.”

 

 Swoops breathes a not-so-subtle sigh of relief.

 

In the spirit of keeping up the ‘I’m totally fine and normal’ façade, which may be pointless now, Kent says “Davey might not be the only freeloader on the team. Remember that time you tried to steal my fucking sweater, like I wouldn’t notice you wearing merch for a team you never played on?”

 

Swoops laughs, but it sounds brittle, and he doesn’t seem to have a witty comeback for that one.

 

Before Kent can ask about that, there’s a knock at his door. He figures it’s probably Swoops, but if it’s not, if he has to deal with someone else seeing him when he feels like this –

 

“Just me, bud,” Swoops says through the phone Kent still has up to his ear, “I’m at your door.” Then, quieter, the first indication Swoops isn’t entirely sure what to do here, “If you don’t want to let me in, you don’t have to, but I’m not going to do anything to make this harder for you, Kent. I want to help you however you’ll let me.”

 

Kent flashes back to the adrenaline he’d felt, not even an hour ago, the way it had faded out when he had nothing else in front of him to fix, and lets it carry him over to his front door, undoing the deadbolt and flicking the lock. The door immediately opens forward, and Swoops steps into the room like a force pushed him through the doorframe that he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

 

He takes one look at Kent, almost completely hiding the way he checks Kent for any kind of injury, and steps forward, right into Kent’s space. He opens his arms, but catches himself quickly, asking “Is it alright if I hug you?”

 

Kent nods, and Swoops wraps his arms around him.

 

It’s not that Kent isn’t used to touch – his teammates are a bunch of tactile little shits, he’s well used to bro hugs and fist bumps. But the way Swoops holds him, without holding back, but without any suggestion of ulterior motive or underlying message, just trying to exert support with every twitch of his arms, is something Kent didn’t know he could have.

 

The light above them flickers gently, and no part of it makes Kent think of _(lights flickering on to show a pale body on grey tile),_ because all he hears is a gentle hum, that could be coming from Swoops but might just be in Kent’s head, of _everything’s going to be okay one day._

 

For the first time ~~(since the draft)~~ in a long time, Kent believes it. Everything’s going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re sitting on Kent’s couch, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate that went cold about 10 minutes ago, when Jeff asks, hesitation in every inch of his body language, “Is this about… Zimmermann?”

 

Kent breathes in. Breathes out. Nods gently.

 

“Isn’t everything?” He muses, and wants to kick himself, because now he has to talk about ( _blood on the grey tiles and the beating of his heart in his ears and the ringing of the phone waiting for the ambulance to arrive_ ) before he stops, and reminds himself: Swoops doesn’t mind. Swoops won’t call him out for leaving out parts, won’t push him to tell every part of it until he breaks, and certainly won’t judge him for whatever convoluted parts of the story do make it out.

 

“It’s, uh, it’s – not his fault. Like, all of the – the shit in my head – it comes back to him? But most of it isn’t his fault. A lot of it – most of it – is my fault, probably.”

 

Swoops puts an arm out gently, elbows Kent in the side like he’s breakable, a silent ‘don’t be stupid’. Kent doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

“I think that like – a lot of it? Is because of – when we were in the Q – in juniors – and Jack was – when Jack decided – or well when Jack tried to – fuck.”

 

Kent’s never told anyone about that night, about finding Jack in the bathroom with _(blood all over the tiles so much blood where was the blood coming from why did Jack need to)_ , and he finds it almost impossible to get any coherent words out. Swoops just puts his hand on Kent’s arm and squeezes gently, waits patiently for Kent to say what he can.

 

Kent breathes in. Breathes out.

 

“You uh – you know that Jack and I were – really close, in the Q?”

 

Swoops nods. Kent goes on.

 

“Well, when Jack – when he overdosed, he, uh – I don’t really know anything about – if he like, meant it, or if – but uh, I was the one that – the one that found him? And that kind of – you know, I remember things about it that just come back to me for random reasons and they always, uh, freak me out.”

 

Kent takes another breath, but he’s so sick of the constant looping of ( _blood on a tile and flickering lights and clatter of the container as I-)_ in his head so he decides to just say it all, and hopes it doesn’t upset Swoops too much.

 

“I just – I guess I don’t really know how much of this is the actual memory and how much I kind of – added to it? That didn’t actually happen? But every time a light flickers I see, like, the lights in the bathroom of our room at the draft flickering into place to show Jack like, passed out on the tiled floor surrounded by blood and, uh, empty pill bottles. And I guess that phone calls scare me now because I had to call the ambulance, you know, and then had to call his parents and tell them what had happened, and it’s always seemed so – stupid, so stupid, it’s just a phone call, it’s not going to hurt me, but that’s, uh, what it reminds me of, I guess. And then, just like, anything at all that makes me think of Jack makes me think of that night, and then the weeks that came after it, and I kind of – I know Jack is okay now? But sometimes I imagine that the last bit of me that was really alive died the night that Jack almost did. So that’s. Uh. Kind of who I am, I guess, this shell of a person that shakes every time I hear a Canadian accent or think about hospital doors that won’t open no matter how long I wait. And I’m, uh, sorry you came over here, and had to – hear all of that? But I just keep thinking that I’m – sick of feeling like this. I guess, I uh, I want to get better.”

 

Swoops looks like he doesn’t know what to say. Kent relates.

 

Eventually, Swoops moves his hand from Kent’s arm, and moves it down to grab Kent’s hand, holding on to it like his life depends on it.

 

“I’m really sorry, Kent. I can’t even imagine how hard this has been on you. But you’re so, so strong, you know that? You’ve survived so much, and you’ve done so well, amongst everything. And you deserve, more than anyone I’ve ever known, to be happy. I’m going to do everything I can to help you get better. It’s what you deserve.”

 

A tear drips from Kent’s eye, then another. He buries his face in the hand that Swoops isn’t holding, and eventually he just nods, and utters, just loud enough for Swoops to hear it, “thank you.”

 

Swoops pulls Kent into his side and wraps his arms around him again, and Kent goes easily.

 

“Everything’s going to be okay one day,” one of them says, and Kent doesn’t even know if it’s him or Swoops, but he believes it more than he’s ever believed anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: therapy, swoops being awesome, and kent finally talks to jack.
> 
> let me know in the comments what you think! i'm not saying more comments = next chapter done sooner, but i am not otherwise easily motivated (i promise this will be finished soon lmao)
> 
> as usual, to hear about my love for connor whisk, watch me meltdown about real life hockey, or watch me be a human mess, come hang out on [tumblr](https://anybodyhavealaurens.tumblr.com) ! I am in desperate need of Kent Parson loving friends, so please drop me a DM if you wanna talk about parse being the greatest, or anything else!
> 
> final reminder that you can find a hotline for your country [here](http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html). Stay safe, loves <3


	2. exhale on my own (can't live in a storm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hears Swoops’ sharp intake of breath when he processes what’s on the screen, and watches him turn towards Kent.
> 
> Between one breath and the next, Kent’s having one of the worst panic attacks he’s had in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd we're back! sorry this took so long to upload <3 
> 
> same trigger warnings as the last chapter apply here (PTSD discussion and symptoms, depression, mentions of suicide) but there's also a really intense panic attack, so please take care! 
> 
> reminder that you can find international hotlines [here!](http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html)
> 
> chapter title is from 'take care' by eden, which is a brilliant song. 
> 
> please enjoy! <3

Therapy is… tough, sometimes. Swoops helped him find a local therapist that has experience working with high profile people and knows how to be discreet but isn’t focused on sports psychology, just like Kent wanted. She’s a pretty solid match for Kent – kind, but feisty, just aggressive enough to force answers out of Kent when he’s struggling but not in an overbearing way.

 

Swoops has been spending a huge amount of time with Kent; they eat most meals after games and practices together, and hang out at Kent’s watching Netflix or playing NHL15 more often than not. Kent knew, all this time, that Swoops was one of the most brilliant people in the world, but he’s still shocked by how much Swoops has been helping with everything, how much better Kent’s days are now that he spends most of them with Swoops.

 

Today, a Thursday in the middle of a home stand, the day after Kent’s second session with his therapist for the week, he and Swoops are sitting on Kent’s couch watching some program on Netflix one of their teammates recommended. The show isn’t half bad, but it’s mostly been kind of heavy content, and Kent is having one of those days that his therapist calls a ‘down day’: where things get worse before they get better. Kent looks down at his hands, picking at his nails a bit, then glances back up to the screen, only to see a dramatic shot of empty orange prescription bottles rolling around on a tiled floor. He hears Swoops’ sharp intake of breath when he processes what’s on the screen, and watches him turn towards Kent.

 

Between one breath and the next, Kent’s having one of the worst panic attacks he’s had in a while.

 

Kent’s brain is split evenly between the part screaming _can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’t_ and the part digging back up that loop of _(grey tiles with that classic bathroom pattern and the clatter as one orange bottle hits another and a few stray pills on the floor but where are the rest he’s probably already taken the rest)_ , and it takes a while before he notices the sound of his therapist’s voice, through a phone speaker, walking him through the breathing exercises she’s taught him.

 

It’s somewhere between 5 minutes and several years before Kent feels like he’s settled back inside of his skin, and he thanks his therapist, who tells him she’s cleared up a spot for a bonus session tomorrow, then says goodbye.

 

Swoops hangs up the phone, and Kent notices that Swoops called from his own phone, not from Kent’s. He tries not to think about what it means that Swoops has his therapist saved and probably on speed dial.

 

Swoops sits back against the couch, looking at Kent with so much concern that Kent doesn’t know what to do. He starts by trying to thank Swoops, but his voice cracks too hard the first time. He tries again.

 

“Thanks man,” he says, feeling like it’s horribly inadequate.

 

“I’m sorry,” Swoops says, and Kent is already shaking his head, “that I didn’t check the show for triggers first. I feel like an idiot, that was such an avoidable thing.”

 

Idiot. Like he’s responsible for the random shit that sets Kent off, like he could have possibly known that one shot was going to make an appearance.

 

“Don’t be stupid, man,” Kent tells him, instead of thumping him in the head.

 

“But I –” Swoops starts, but Kent cuts him off with “Seriously, none of that was remotely your fault. My stupid brain’s fault, maybe, but not yours. Thanks for helping me out though, dude, I appreciate it.”

 

He tries to push finality into his tone, because he doesn’t want to sit there and argue with the person helping him get better about whose fault it is that it doesn’t always work perfectly.

 

Kent’s frustrated, sure, but he doesn’t really feel like this is a setback. He might not seem like the type to actually listen to his therapist, but he’s tried his absolute hardest to take everything she says to heart, and if she says that relapse is a part of recovery, he believes her.

 

In the back of his brain, he thinks part of his commitment to believing his therapist, as well as accepting and appreciating help from people like Swoops, kind of comes from Jack. Not because Jack taught him to do it explicitly, but because he watched Jack refuse any help from Kent or his family, watched him skip sessions with his therapist or complain about the bullshit she was trying to teach him instead of trying to learn from her, and he spent so long wanting Jack to be better that he knew it wouldn’t happen until Jack wanted that for himself. He keeps going back to the day he tipped out all the alcohol and finally told Swoops what was happening, and thinks about that motivation, that fire burning inside him that told him to run until it was all fixed. He thinks the practical application of that motivation is _wanting_ to be better, being willing to listen to other people and their input even when it feels impossible, being able to trust figures in his life like Swoops and his therapist to sometimes know what’s best for him better than Kent does.

 

He thinks, sometimes, that if something in Jack’s life had been different then none of the bad shit would have happened; maybe if he’d never met Kent, or if Bad Bob had supported him more, or if he’d never been expected to go into the NHL, he’d have always been happy. But Kent thinks, quietly, most of the time, that nothing could change what happened unless Jack wanted to be better, and it’s not up to Kent to decide what could have made that happen. He supposes it doesn’t matter now, supposes Jack is far better off now than he would’ve been in Juniors with a little more support that he wouldn’t have accepted anyway.

 

When Jack had started with the Falconers, Kent considered letting that text sit in his inbox, unanswered forever. But Kent has sat on the other side of that scenario for far too long, has suffered genuine pain because Jack hadn’t been able to text him back for whatever reason, and Kent has spent too long playing a dumb, violent sport to think that payback is ever fair. So he’d responded, a few days later, with Swoops’ help, and told Jack he was happy for him. It sounded weird, to say; Kent isn’t _happy,_ that’s the problem, and whatever he feels when he thinks of Jack certainly can’t be described as _happiness_ , but he doesn’t feel like it’s a lie. He wants _Jack_ to be happy. He wants to be able to be happy as well.

 

And it – he’d meant what he’d said, when he told Swoops that first day that none of it was Jack’s fault. Jack’s never known, Kent doesn’t think, that Kent is as messed up as he is, that so much of what makes Kent’s life feel impossible some days is at Jack’s hands. Kent doesn’t think it’s fair to blame him, but he knows, especially after his time in therapy, that so much of the mental processes that led to him sitting on a couch trying to catch his breath just from a TV show were at least partially to do with Jack, and he needs some kind of – closure, maybe, on that.

 

He turns back to Swoops, who’s probably aware that Kent went off into his own world for a while there, because he’s just silently watching Kent, waiting for him. Kent smiles at him, tries not to feel the weakness in his knees when Swoops smiles back.

 

“You doing okay, Parser?” Swoops asks.

 

“Doing great, Swoops.”

 

“You don’t mind that I called your therapist without checking with you, do you? ‘Cause in the future I can just not do that, but I just wasn’t sure what to do there to make sure you were okay.”

 

“‘Course I don’t mind, man. You did the right thing. I appreciate it.”

 

Swoops nods, but doesn’t say anything, just watches Kent.

 

Eventually, Swoops asks “What are you thinking about, dude?”

 

“Jack,” Kent says, and pauses, then says, “and that maybe we both deserve some closure.”

 

Swoops waits, patient, clearly aware Kent has more he needs to say.

 

“I think,” Kent eventually declares “that I need to talk to him.”

 

* * *

 

The phone rings out, and Kent doesn’t know what to think. His mind flickers through ( _blood and pills laid out across a tiled floor)_ and _(music so loud you could feel it in the floor, nothing louder than Jack telling him ‘You always say that’, like Kent doesn’t know, like Kent doesn’t just want Jack to say it back)_ and _(a room that makes him feel safe and his therapist telling him he doesn’t need to rush into it but she thinks that talking to Jack could be really good for him)_ and _(the weight on his shoulder of Swoop’s hand, the weight in his heart of Swoops saying he’s proud of Kent, the warmth of Swoops where he sits right next to Kent)._

The phone rings again, and Kent reaches out, grabs Swoops’ hand.

 

The phone rings again, and Kent isn’t scared, okay, he’s _not,_ but this is still really hard.

 

The phone gets halfway through another ring, before it gets cut off and there’s a second of silence, before a voice that Kent couldn’t forget if he tried says “Hello? This is Jack.”

 

Kent breathes in. Breathes out.

 

“Hey Jack. It’s Kent. Parson. Please – please don’t hang up.”

 

Swoops squeezes his hand.

 

“Oh. Hey, Kent. I don’t – how – how are you?”

 

Kent doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

 

“I’m – I’m good, Jack, how are you?”

 

It’s a pleasantry, usually, but Kent’s never wanted to know anything more than he wants to know how Jack is right now. He thinks maybe Jack gets that, because he doesn’t just go for a stock-standard answer.

 

“I’m pretty good, actually. You’d know better than anyone that life in the NHL is – stressful, I guess, but I think I’m doing well.”

 

Kent laughs. He might want to cry with happiness, just a little. He knows what Jack sounds like when he’s lying, and this isn’t it.

 

“Well,” Kent says, “if we’re talking stats, I think you’re doing _very_ well.”

 

And it’s true. Jack’s leading all rookies in points, to the surprise of absolutely no-one.

 

Jack clearly knows it, because he laughs, but doesn’t protest the point. Kent goes on.

 

“But, uh, seriously, Jack, I’m really glad to hear it. I hope Providence is treating you well. You deserve – you deserve to be surrounded by people that support you.”

 

Swoops squeezes Kent’s hand again, and Kent doesn’t want to read into the part of him that knows Swoops well enough to know that’s a ‘so do you’.

 

On the other end of the line, Jack pauses, and Kent hopes he didn’t say the wrong thing.

 

“I – thank you, Kent. I hope you know you deserve that too. And I – I don’t want us to hurt each other again, so if you just wanted to clear the air before we play each other I understand, but I guess I’m just wondering if there’s, y’know, something in particular you called for?”

 

Kent takes a deep breath, then does his best to get the right words out.

 

“I – I started seeing a therapist, this season, for the first time. Or, y’know, the first time I’ve seen a therapist for anything other than hockey. And – I understand if you don’t want to know this, I’m not going to force this conversation on you, but I’ve gone through so much of my shit with her and when I suggested I talk to you she agreed it could be good and – Jesus, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.”

  
Kent’s hands are sweating. Jack chuckles, says, “Take your time, I don’t mind.”

 

And just like that, Kent has a bit more courage.

 

“The whole time that I’ve been in the NHL, I’ve had all this mental shit that I never really knew how to get help for. And I don’t – I don’t blame you, Jack, not at all, please don’t think that, but in my mind most of it traces back to – y’know, juniors, and what happened at the – at the draft. And so I walked into the NHL with what is apparently most easily labelled as severe PTSD and some pretty intense depressive symptoms, and maybe an anxiety disorder, and then I kept doing shit to make it worse. Like, every time I tried to reach out to you, I’d fuck it up, and that just made it easier for me to point fingers at myself and say ‘Look, I’m a bad fucking person’, or whatever, and it just – kept going. And I just – I wanted the chance to say that I’m really sorry, and maybe explain to you a bit of what was going on when I like, showed up at your school and said all that shit. I never –” Kent pauses, maybe sniffles a little, maybe has to wipe his eyes, gets over any part of him that thinks that’s worth being embarrassed about, and clears his throat, before he goes on, says, “I never meant to hurt you, Jack. Never. And I’m sorry that I did, but all I ever wanted is for you to be happy and safe, and I think I might be starting to genuinely want that for me too, but it doesn’t change that you deserve that, deserve so much more.”

 

Kent’s really crying, now. He wipes his eyes with his hand again; Swoops passes him the box of tissues from the coffee table.

 

Jack makes a noise in the back of his throat, says Kent’s name like he’s begging.

 

“I’m so – Kent, I’m so glad you’re seeing a therapist, that you have someone to support you, that you had the courage to ask for help. It can be so hard, I know that, and to get there without anyone needing to intervene – well, I’m assuming that’s what happened, but Kent, you’re so strong. I – I know you said you don’t blame me, but that doesn’t mean none of it’s my fault, and for what it’s worth, I’m so sorry. I didn’t do right by _anyone_ , at the draft, but I started doing right by me soon after, and then never started doing right by you. I hope that – I hope that maybe, if it’s okay with you, you’ll consider forgiving me, consider letting me do right by you. And even if you’re never ready to have me in your life again, I promise I’ll understand, that’s nothing in the face of what I did to you, but I just – I need to know that you can be happy, Kent. Even if you’re not there yet, I need to know that there are people who love you, who can help you get there, now that I’ve probably blown my shot of ever getting to be one of those people for you.”

 

Kent has absolutely no fucking clue what to say. For all he’d thought about what Jack would say if they ever had a conversation like this, he wasn’t really expecting _this_.

 

“And,” Jack says, and Kent is frozen, doesn’t know what else Jack could have to say, “You don’t need to be sorry. I know you, Kent Parson, I’ve always known you, and you seeking me out then saying what you did at that party _never_ struck me as you being cruel. I knew, straight away, that you weren’t okay, that you wouldn’t say that if you were, and I should have done something about it. _I’m_ sorry, for so many things, and if you ever had a single reason to apologise, then I forgive you. Don’t think for a second I don’t forgive you.”

 

Kent can’t stop crying. Swoops, who hasn’t heard Jack’s side of the conversation, looks like he’s going to fly to Providence and punch Jack in the face, and Kent laughs a little at it. _Lord._

 

“I – Jack. You – thank you. You’re wrong, you’re so wrong, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for, but I – same, I guess, if you had something to apologise for then I forgive you. I just – please, Jack, please tell me you’re happy, that Providence supports you and that everything’s okay with your family, that you have people that love you. Please.”

 

“I –” Jack pauses, and Kent hears his throat click as he swallows, then says, “I think I’m closer to happiness than I’ve ever been,” Jack says. “I think I’ll be in Providence as long as I can be, because the team and the franchise supports me and – I got so sick of being afraid, you know? It’s not worth being afraid, it never was, and I’m – I’m sorry I didn’t see it when it was you, but now I – I love someone, and he loves me, and I don’t have it in me to be afraid of that. It should make me happy, not afraid. You should get to have the same.”

 

Kent looks at Swoops, who, for all he doesn’t know anything about Kent and Jack’s actual relationship history, doesn’t even know that Kent’s gay, is acting more like a boyfriend right now than Kent probably ever was to Jack. Kent leans into Swoops, finally, and Swoops just wraps his arms around him and continues to not say anything, and Kent lets himself smile.

 

“I –  I think I might even believe you, Jack Zimmermann. I got sick of so much, got sick of feeling how I did, and – you’re right, it’s just not worth being afraid. It’s – the blonde boy, from Samwell, right?”

 

Jack laughs, says “yeah” gently, and Kent can hear the smile.

 

“Tell me about him, then. Tell me about how happy you are, so I can stick it to the Kent of years past that didn’t know if you’d get there, as if you’d ever get anything less than you deserve.”

 

* * *

 

When Kent and Jack hang up, they have pretty solid plans to keep talking as often as they can afford with their schedules, to work as hard as they can to fit back into each other’s lives. If Jack missed Kent half as much as Kent missed him, Kent thinks it might just work out.

 

He puts his phone down on the coffee table, wipes his eyes again, and looks up at Swoops, who still has his arms wrapped around Kent. Swoops looks expectantly back.

 

“He’s happy,” Kent says, his voice cracking, “and he wants me to be happy too.”

 

Swoops grins, hugs Kent tighter.

 

Kent starts crying all over again, and thinks about how _happiness_ would feel in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feedback/comments/kudos are all deeply appreciated! 
> 
> annnnd again, come be friends with me on [tumblr](https://anybodyhavealaurens.tumblr.com) or just be a bystander to me making weird playlists, crying over peter parker and yelling about real life hockey!
> 
> take care of yourselves, friends! you all deserve love and support just like kent does <3


	3. something i can give a damn about (maybe you could show me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My brain says I could never deserve someone like Swoops," Kent's saying to Jack, "but then I remember what it was like, in Juniors, when no matter how much I loved you all I felt was fear at every corner and all I could think about was –” (blood on a grey tiled floor) Kent doesn’t say, doesn’t even think, “how it could never be better, we could never be happy, and I think – I’ve always known that you deserved happiness, Jack, but now I wonder if – maybe I do too.” 
> 
> Kent takes a breath for what feels like the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnd that's the final installment! I'm so so sorry it's taken me so long to upload this, i've just moved into college and classes start tomorrow (!!!) and i've been crazy busy the last few weeks. 
> 
> as always, i'll be working on 1000 other fics after this, so please please drop a comment if you have any requests/suggestions or anything!! 
> 
> chapter title is from Connection by OneRepublic (shoutout to the anon on tumblr that suggested this song for the kent playlist!) 
> 
> again, content/trigger warnings for discussion of trauma, suicide attempts, homophobia etc. this chapter is, i believe, a little lighter than the others, but there's a lot of crying i guess. that's just how i write *shrugs*
> 
> hope you enjoy!

They’re on a road trip, out in Chicago, and Kent’s in his hotel room, on the phone to Jack. Swoops is out with some of the other guys, but Kent had begged off with the excuse of wanting to go over tape, which he gave up on a few hours ago.

 

Jack’s talking about Bittle’s trip up to Providence the previous weekend (“I’m pretty sure the team likes him more than me, to be honest,” Jack says, laughing), and Kent’s struck, not for the first time, with how genuinely happy he is for Jack, how little of what he feels when Jack talks about this is jealousy.

 

Because his therapist always says he should practice being honest about his emotions with the people he cares about, he admits this to Jack when he finishes talking about the weekend.

 

“Hey Jack? I’m really happy for you, you know? Like, I’m genuinely really glad you have someone, have Eric.”

 

Jack pauses for a minute, like Kent knows he does when he’s figuring out what to say.

 

“I know you are, and I’m so grateful, Kent. I – I know we’ve kind of been avoiding talking about it, but do you – have someone, too? I mean, I know you don’t _need_ someone, but it’s always just sounded a bit like – that first time you called me I thought maybe –”

 

Jack cuts off, and Kent thinks he probably knows exactly what Jack’s talking about. After all, Kent couldn’t have made that call without Swoops there, and it must have showed.

 

Kent laughs, and thinks about Swoops this morning, standing by his side and exuding support while Kent talked to the team about how important and helpful therapy can be, so that losing streaks like the one they’re having now are easier to get through. He thinks about Swoops, a few days ago, sitting on Kent’s couch and looking completely non-threatening as Kent, with Jack’s permission, explained he and Jack’s background completely, as Kent officially comes out to him. Thinks about how, after, Swoops had held Kent as he cried with relief, how Swoops had put on one of Kent’s favourite movies and ordered them dinner without saying a word. Thinks about Swoops, being the best thing in Kent’s life, being _someone_ to Kent, and he laughs, and laughs.

 

It’s like a dam breaking; Kent’s crying, he realises, and Jack’s mostly quiet except for a gentle “Kent? You okay?”, and now Kent’s well and truly sobbing, but he’s grinning too.

 

“Yeah, Jack,” Kent says, through his tears, “Yeah.” He means: _Yeah, I’m okay._ He means: _Yeah, there’s someone._

He thinks Jack understands.

 

* * *

 

“His name,” Kent says, when he’s calmed down a bit, “is Jeffrey. Though personally I think his full name makes him sound like an old man. You – uh, you might remember him from last time we played you? Troy, wears number 14, is one of my A’s?”

 

Jack laughs.

 

“As if I’d forget who Jeff Troy is, Kent. He’s, what, 5th in the league for assists? He’s been one of the largest parts of your core since you started with the Aces. He’s also one of the nicest guys I’ve met in the league.”

 

Kent grins, thinks _that’s my Swoops._

“Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know you’ve been an Aces fan all this time?”

 

Jack laughs again, and the following silence is inquisitive on its own; Kent’s sure Jack knows how much is missing from this story.

 

Kent clears his throat.

 

“He’s, uh, he’s – someone, to me, I guess, but he’s not, like, my – whatever. We’re not, uh, dating, or whatever.”

 

“But you’d like to be?” Jack asks, and he only sounds a bit hesitant, which Kent appreciates.

 

“I mean,” Kent says, and realises he’s never admitted this out loud, “I’d love to be dating him, sure, but I don’t even know if – I mean, I only came out to him a few days ago, when I asked if you’d mind me telling some people about us, and he didn’t say anything about, like, himself or anything. Which he doesn’t have to, obviously, but. I dunno, I’m mostly just really grateful to have him here, y’know? He, like, helped me work up the courage to, uh, call you, that first time, and he’s possibly the only reason I’m in therapy. Like, I wanted to get better, I knew therapy was the answer, but I was so far stuck in my own shit at the beginning there, I couldn’t have gotten there on my own. I just – it’s like you said, right, he’s the nicest guy, and I don’t know what I did to deserve having someone like that in my life, but there’s no way I’m ever going to be enough to be _someone_ to him in the same way.”

 

The problem, Kent thinks, is that he’s not even sure he believes that anymore. He wants, so badly, to deserve Swoops, and he’d never considered that he could, but now – everything seems possible, maybe.

 

Jack sighs.

 

“Crisse, Kent, that’s bullshit. You’re not – you’ve never deserved anything less than the best.  And it – it goes so much deeper than just, something bad happened to you so now you deserve something good. You’re a _good_ person, Kent, you were always as good to me as anyone could have been, and you’re such a good captain to that team and such a good friend to so many people. And like, I know it doesn’t change what’s happened to you, what I’ve done to you, but after everything, if anyone deserves someone _good_ like Jeff is, it’s you.”

 

Kent only doesn’t cry because he physically has no tears left in him.

 

“I don’t – fuck, Jack, I don’t know what to _think._ That first time we spoke this season, and you said – about Bittle – and that it’s not worth being afraid, and that loving someone and being happy is so much more worth it, and you said – I don’t even know, that I should get to have that as well. And I just – it’s been, what, three months of therapy, but I still believed you, a little bit, and that’s stuck with me, I guess. My brain says I could never deserve someone like Swoops, but then I remember what it was like, in Juniors, when no matter how much I loved you all I felt was fear at every corner and all I could think about was –” ( _blood on a grey tiled floor)_ Kent doesn’t say, doesn’t even think, “how it could never be better, we could never be happy, and I think – I’ve always known that you deserved happiness, Jack, but now I wonder if – maybe I do too.”

 

Kent takes a breath for what feels like the first time in years; the door to the room he shares with Swoops opens.

 

As Swoops steps into the room, Kent considers that the walls in this hotel are pretty thick, so Swoops can’t have heard what Kent was saying, and he does his best to swallow down the panic working its way up his throat. Swoops smiles, like he doesn’t turn Kent’s world upside down every time he does it. Kent comes back down to earth, and realises Jack is talking again.

 

“– do, Kent, of _course_ you do. I know me saying it doesn’t make it magically true, but Jeff’s crazy if he doesn’t want you to be _someone._ And, I know this is horrible to hear right now, but believe me, if it’s not going to be Jeff, then it’s going to be someone just as amazing as him.”

 

Kent doesn’t say anything, just watches Swoops settle into the room, having made a vague gesture offering to clear out until Kent’s off the phone, which Kent denied, because he’s lovesick and hates being separated from Swoops. As Swoops settles onto his bed, pulling his phone out, Kent tries to understand and believe what Jack’s saying, but he doesn’t know how to keep having this meaningful discussion with Swoops right there.

 

“I mean,” he says, like chirping has always been the tone of this conversation, “if anyone can make something magically true, it’s gonna be The Great Jack Zimmermann, right?”

 

Jack doesn’t laugh, which Kent isn’t really surprised by.

 

“Is – did I go too far? Is everything okay?” Jack asks instead, which makes Kent roll his eyes. Kent laughs, but it’s brittle, sounding like it broke before it even got out of his chest.

 

“Yes, Zimms, everything’s fine. I think that friend of yours might be right about the robot modes, if one of them is concerned, and you can never turn it off.”

 

The chirp doesn’t land in the slightest, and Kent internally curses. This whole time, since Kent first reached back out to Jack, there’s been a weird unspoken agreement not to fall back into any part of what they’d been in juniors, and a big part of that is the nicknames. Kent doesn’t think he’s heard his first name so much in his life since they started talking again, because everyone else always uses Parse, and Jack used to always use Kenny. Kent thinks about how much of his insides would shrivel up and die on the spot if Jack called him _Kenny_ right now, and he shudders. He shouldn’t have said Zimms; it seems like such a small thing, but it feels like something much bigger. Jack clearly feels the same way.

 

“Kent. I – I don’t know how else to ask you, man. Are you okay? Please don’t act like you’re about to cut me right back out of your life. I couldn’t stand that.”

 

The part of Kent that’s falling back into old habits wants to say ‘ _me? I’m the one that cut you out? Is that what you think?’_ , wants to get angry and say scathing words again. But Kent’s had more than enough of that version of himself to last a lifetime, so he takes a deep breath and opts for honesty.

 

“Yea, man. Sorry. I don’t – I’m really sorry. I’m not gonna pull anything on you right now, don’t worry. Everything’s fine, just, uh, Swoops just got back to the room. I should – hang up, let him get his beauty sleep, y’know how it is. I can call you – the day after tomorrow, when you guys get to Seattle maybe? No pressure if you’re busy though, dude. This was – really helpful, Jack. I appreciate it.”

 

“Shit, Kent, I’m sorry too. I didn’t – I didn’t even realise he was your roommate for this roadie, I thought you guys would get your own rooms and all, and I – I’m sorry, man. We can keep talking on text if you want? I can kind of see why continuing this out loud with Jeff in the room isn’t, you know, the best idea. But just – I mean it, Kent: you deserve him. You deserve to be happy.”

 

Kent very carefully chooses not to mention that he and Swoops are not, in fact, actual road roommates, that they get assigned their own rooms but mostly choose to share one of the rooms anyway. Instead, he blinks back a tear or two, and rolls his eyes at the fact that he’s almost crying again.

 

“Yea, man. Thanks. Seriously. I, uh, I might text you in a few minutes? But really, it was good to chat about this with someone. Uh, send my best to Bittle when you talk to him later? Tell him to score a goal for me tonight, and maybe I’ll do the same for him.”

 

Jack laughs.

 

“The two of you are absolutely relentless, you know that? Maybe he should be dating you instead of me.”

 

“I could literally never,” Kent laughs, “man, it’d be like dating myself, and nothing sounds worse than that. But you better do everything you can to make sure he’s in Providence next time we are, because I need to properly meet him as soon as possible. Just, y’know so he and I can become best friends. I’m not a homewrecker, Jack. Not anymore, anyway.”

 

Jack makes a strangled sound, like he’s not sure whether or not he’s allowed to laugh. Kent laughs at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go have a nap, old man. I’ll catch ya later.”

 

“Bye, Kent. Text me if you need anything.”  


“Will do. Bye.”

 

After Kent hangs up the phone, it’s quiet in the hotel room for a few seconds, before Swoops speaks, his voice a mix of hesitation and concern.

 

“I, uh, would have been more than happy to clear out, man. Sorry, I didn’t even realise you would be on a call.”

 

He’s quiet again for another moment, before he goes on:

 

“You know that I understand that there are things you can talk to Jack about and not me, right? Like, I’m not gonna get offended if you kick me out. This is – so much of what you’re working through is tied to Jack, and I’m so glad you’ve let me into so much of it anyway, but it’s not actually my business, you know? I just – I’m glad you’re talking to him. Please don’t sacrifice that opportunity on my behalf, Kent.”

 

Kent’s felt on edge since the second Swoops walked in the door, but now he gets the genuine sense that something’s about to blow up in his face.

 

“What,” Kent starts, but his voice breaks, so he clears his throat and goes on, “what kind of shit do you think I’m talking to Jack about and not you?”

 

“I mean – I don’t know, man, stuff about the draft or juniors or – y’know, you guys dating, whatever. I just – I know this has all been so hard on you. I don’t want me eavesdropping to make it harder, just because you’re talking about stuff that doesn’t involve me. I don’t – I’m just sorry, Kent. It doesn’t matter what you guys were talking about, it’s just none of my business. Sorry.”

 

Swoops sounds unsure, in a way he rarely ever does. Kent’s heart beats faster; he takes a deep breath, then a second one, then lets it out in a rush. He’s doing this, then. He’s walking himself off the plank, all because he wants to believe Jack that badly, wants to believe he deserves to have this. He tries to go for light-hearted, but definitely misses by a mile.

 

“Nah, you’re fine, man, you didn’t do anything. I just like – freaked out or whatever cause I was talking to Jack about my massive crush on you.”

 

 _‘It’s not worth being afraid’_ , Jack had said, and maybe this wasn’t what he meant, but it’s the same idea, right? Like, Swoops is basically incapable of being an asshole about this. He’s too good. Kent doesn’t even think he’ll have to give the whole ‘yes, I understand we’ll only ever be friends, no, I don’t mind’ speech, because Swoops probably already understands that. He’s that good.

 

When Kent glances up, Swoops looks awkward, his ears flushed red and his eyes rested on his hands, which are fidgeting in his lap. It’s weird, Kent thinks, to see Swoops so uncomfortable. Kent has only seen him look like this a few times, and it’s always for random reasons: certain chirps Kent gives him, conversations they have about things like the summer and the last All-Star game they went to together, and, weirdly, every time that Kent wears a certain red sweater of his, which – well, which he may or may not have stolen from Swoops years ago, but Kent doesn’t really know why that’s significant. Swoops had been fine about it at the time, it’s only within the last year he’s started being weird about shit like this. Kent would maybe think it’s about Kent being gay, but Swoops barely reacts when Kent fake-flirts with him, and he hadn’t even flinched when Kent had come out to him.

 

Swoops is still sitting silently, and Kent maybe starts to freak out a bit. He’d predicted that Swoops would react one of two ways: happy, because he feels the same way, or kind, to let Kent down gently. It’s throwing Kent off to get a reaction he wasn’t expecting. Eventually, Swoops speaks.

 

“Dude, I – you literally told me yesterday to call you out when you’re an asshole, even if it’s because of your mental stuff, so like – don’t be an asshole about this, Kent. Come on. I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, and if I did anyway, then I’m sorry. But like – please, just don’t joke about it, or whatever.”

 

Kent is… confused.

 

“I’m… sorry?” Kent says, and it definitely doesn’t sound genuine, because he has no clue what he’s apologising for, but if Swoops is calling him an asshole, he probably fucked up badly.

 

Swoops sighs, and stands up.

 

“It’s all good man, don’t worry. Listen, I’m gonna go hang with Davey, he said he wanted some help going over tape anyway. I’ll, uh, just stay in my own room tonight, and we can just – forget about this. It’s whatever. I’ll see you at team breakfast?”

 

This is really, really not going to plan. Kent’s terrified now, because Swoops is walking out, and this might actually be it now. Like, he might not really come back.

 

Swoops has his back to Kent, so Kent can’t read anything on his face, but the set of his shoulders screams discomfort, and Swoops is – reaching for the doorknob, now, leaving Kent’s life, right as everything was getting to a place Kent was happy with.

 

Kent doesn’t know what to _do._

“Swoops,” Kent tries, “Hold on, man. Just – give me a second, I really don’t understand what –” but Swoops doesn’t even stop, just keeps going, and he’s – he’s allowed to leave, okay, Kent isn’t going to keep him here against his will, but Kent wants to know _why_.

 

“Jeff. Please.” Kent says, and his voice cracks, and it must sound truly pathetic, because Swoops finally turns around, the door to the room halfway open.

 

He looks at whatever expression is on Kent’s face, and he quietly shuts the door again and stands against it, looking at Kent expectantly.

 

“Jeff – I’m sorry, I am, but I don’t know what I did that hurt you. You have to – part of telling me when I’m an asshole is telling me _why_ , and I know that’s a lot to ask for, so if you can’t, I understand, I do, but you have to know I don’t know what I did. If you’re – if you’re mad that I spoke to Jack about it, I – I promise I didn’t like, implicate you in it, or whatever. Like, he doesn’t think you’re – y’know. Whatever. And if – if it upsets you that I – y’know, that I,” Kent can’t say it, not again, so he just says, “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again, and I’ll, like, get over it.”

 

Swoops sits down on the other bed, and he’s staring at Kent like he’s never seen him before.

 

“I don’t – what?” He says, eloquently, “Like, a quarter of that made sense, Parser.”

 

Kent sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say.

 

“Just tell me why I was an asshole, Swoops. That’s all I need to know.”

 

Swoops looks no less confused than before.

 

“Because – you were making fun of me? And the fact that I have feelings for you? Which like, okay, I know I’m obvious, I know all the guys figured it out like a year ago, but I don’t know why you’re just saying something now. Like I said, it doesn’t matter. We’ll just forget about this. I know you didn’t mean to be cruel or whatever, Parse. I trust you.”

 

Kent is fucking _confused._

 

“You – feelings? I wasn’t – I wasn’t making fun of you, man, I don’t know why you thought I was.”

 

“So then – why the hell did you say that you –“ Swoops stops, dumbstruck.

 

“Have a crush on you?” Kent finishes for him.

 

“Yes! Why would you say –” Swoops is yelling, now, which is very unlike him, but it doesn’t scare Kent. _‘The fact that I have feelings for you’,_ Swoops had said, and Kent doesn’t – he doesn’t know what that means but – Swoops wouldn’t kid about this. That much is undeniably true, so Kent just – yells back.

 

“Because it’s true? Because I got sick of hiding how I felt? Because you’re too fucking good for me and it kills me to have you here when I know I don’t deserve it?”

 

Swoops slumps over, like a string holding him taut has been cut, and looks at Kent, asks “You really mean it?” so fucking cautiously.

 

“Do I really mean what? That you’re too good for me? I’m pretty sure you’ve known this since you met me, bud.” Kent knows what he means. He’s maybe still a bit frustrated, maybe doesn’t want to give a straight answer.

 

“You’re – that’s not true, Kent. You’re not – you could _never_ be – you – you really have feelings for me?”

 

Swoops’ voice is almost shrill by the end of the sentence. He still sounds mostly disbelieving.

 

“Yes, idiot,” Kent huffs, a bubble of uncontrollable laughter in his chest, “I really have feelings for you. I like-like you. I’m crushing way hard. I’m – “

 

“Al _right_ , I get it,” Swoops cut him off, laughing himself, which is probably a good sign. “I – y’know, like-like you too, in case you didn’t catch that.”

 

Kent’s suddenly laughing, near hysterics, but it’s mostly because the only other alternative is to cry, and he’s sick of that being his life story. _Laughing because I’ve already cried too much._ That’s the title of his fucking biography.

 

When Kent stops laughing, he wipes at his eyes, and catches Swoops doing the same thing.

 

“Christ,” Kent remarks, “We’re such fucking dorks, aren’t we? I mean, I kind of figured you knew that I was head over heels for you, and here you were thinking I’d known for a _year_ that you liked me? Fucking hell, we’re hopeless.”

 

Swoops laughs.

 

“I’m pretty sure after the chaos that got us here we’ve both gathered enough communication skills to make our relationship immortal.”

 

Kent snorts, but he supposes Swoops is kind of right. That’s therapy for you.

 

Still, they’re going to have to use their supposedly perfect communication skills to have some kind of a ‘defining the relationship’ talk here, and Kent is decidedly unexcited. Swoops’ face right now says he probably feels the same way. Despite that, Swoops seems to make the executive decision to speak first.

 

“I – stop me if you don’t wanna talk about this, man, but what were you and Jack actually talking about? Is there any of it that you could – maybe share with me, so we could talk it through together?”

 

“I suppose I could do that,” Kent replies, “it’s some pretty embarrassing shit, though.”

 

Swoops laughs, says, “As embarrassing as me getting offended by you saying you like me because you’re that out of my league that I figured you were joking?”

 

Kent grins, but struggles to get Swoops saying ‘ _you’re that out of my league’_ out of his head.

 

“I just,” Kent starts, then has no idea what to say, but gets out, “I’ve been, y’know, unhappy, for a really long time, and I guess I can see myself being – happy with you, or whatever, and I’ve never really thought I, like, deserved that. To be happy. But Jack – he disagrees, I guess, so I was talking to him about that, and he was convincing me a little bit. I think he figured out my feelings for you way back, but he never said anything about it. Not until today, anyway. And he – Jack and I talk, quite a lot, about how being a queer guy in the NHL makes you – y’know, afraid all the time, and you forget that loving someone can make you happy, instead of just vulnerable. And Jack – he said – ages ago, that he’s found that it’s just … not worth being afraid, when there’s someone you love in front of you. And I guess that stuck with me, because I was so _scared_ , all through juniors and after everything that happened there, and I’m just sick of it. I didn’t want to die being too afraid to tell you that – I love you. And I didn’t really think about what would happen after I told you, but, y’know, I’d be so lucky to spend any or all of the rest of my life with you, Jeff. You make me happy, and I think after everything I might believe that I deserve to have that.”

 

The look on Jeff’s face, loathe though Kent may be to admit it, is nothing short of awestruck. Kent loves him, so fiercely, like a fire burning inside him, turning his fingertips to flames and burning away the voice telling him he’ll never be fixed, will always be broken, will never forget the sight of ( _blood on a grey tiled floor)._

Jeff opens his mouth, then closes it again. Eventually, he says, quiet but overwhelmed, “I’m so proud of you, you know that? I love you so much, Kent. You deserve to be happy more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

 

Kent couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. He gets up, goes over to the bed Jeff’s sitting on, and practically curls up in Jeff’s arms. Jeff kisses the top of Kent’s head, and Kent thinks he can taste happiness on the back of his tongue, in a way he isn’t sure he ever has. He looks up to Jeff, grinning in pure joy, and Jeff looks back down, pecks a kiss to Kent’s lips too.

 

“So,” Jeff starts, and Kent doesn’t bother being afraid, because he knows it’s not worth it, “boyfriends?”

 

Kent wants to giggle. Who knew things could go so right in the life of Kent Parson?

 

“Boyfriends.”

 

Then, like nothing has changed except the comfort with which Kent curls around Jeff, Jeff starts telling Kent the latest instalment in Petey’s misadventures with trying the most ridiculous alcohol he can find.

 

Kent doesn’t think he could literally ever get tired of this, of having Jeff, of not being afraid. Of being happy.

 

He’s more than willing to wait and find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos/comments and let me know what you thought!! i've really enjoyed writing this piece, so i hope you enjoyed reading it. mayhaps ill be back to make this a series, but first i should probably start university. 
> 
> don't forget to befriend me on [tumblr](https://anybodyhavealaurens.tumblr.com) if you haven't already! 
> 
> thank you for reading, take care of urselves and those u love <33


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